


Never Be The First To Believe

by weakinteraction



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Cold War, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: Florence, growing up in the shadow of the Cold War in more ways than one.





	Never Be The First To Believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).

Florence had just started at the grammar school when it happened. The high stakes conflict that had already shaped her own life irrevocably bleeding through into 

Even her usually unflappable English hosts -- as well-meaning as they undoubtedly were, she still couldn't bring herself to think of them as "parents" while she still held out hope of her own being alive in Hungary, or at least _somewhere_ in the Eastern bloc -- seemed rattled.

She crept downstairs to see them watching the news bulletin on the TV. Not all of it made sense to her, and the distorted versions of events being passed around at school -- heated discussions at break times, whispers during the drills that even the teachers half-admitted were pointless -- hardly helped, but the outline was clear enough, in its own way. It was a test of nerve between Kennedy and Khruschev -- a little like offering an exchange of queens. The fact that both of their names started with a K made it even easier to think of them as two kings, facing off on either side of the chessboard.

Except, she knew, the outcome wouldn't be checkmate, it would be as though both players had simultaneously risen to their feet in a tantrum and swept all the pieces off the board, leaving it a wasteland.

It was only when the bulletin finished -- frustratingly inconclusively -- that they realised she was there.

"Back to bed, Florence," Fiona said, firmly but not unkindly.

"But what's happening? Are they--"

"As soon as anyone figures out it, I'm sure they'll tell us," said Charles darkly.

* * *

The crisis passed in the end, but the sense of how close things had come to disaster pervaded everything over the ensuing weeks.

One day, she came back from school wearing a small CND badge she'd been given by one of her friends. Stuffed in her satchel were several leaflets.

She'd thought she'd get a chance to discuss their contents over dinner. But the moment Charles and Fiona saw it, their reaction was apoplectic. Florence realised that she'd never seen them so angry before.

The row ended with her storming up to her room and slamming the door.

It was a few minutes before they followed her; from what she could hear above her own sobs, they were recriminating with each other, blaming one another for what from her point of view had definitely been a collective loss of temper.

"Florence," Fiona began, holding her arms out for a hug, "you know we only want what's best for you--"

Florence stayed stubbornly on the bed. "But the other girls at school--"

"You're not like the other girls at school," Charles said, calm now.

"Because of who I am? Who my father is?"

Even in amidst all the heightened emotion -- or perhaps, she thought later, because of it -- she noticed the way Charles winced a little as she said it. But he answered only, "Yes."

"You would attract attention," Fiona said. "The wrong sort of attention."

"Maybe I want the wrong sort of attention."

"But we don't," Fiona said, coming to sit beside her. She put out her hand and started to stroke Florence's hair, tentatively at first, then more firmly when Florence didn't flinch away. "We can't afford it."

Florence looked up, puzzled.

"When we were young -- not as young as you are now, admittedly -- we were involved in politics. Marches, demonstrations, the works."

"It's how we met," Fiona added with a smile. "But then, after the War--"

"Our brand of politics became distinctly less fashionable."

"You mean ...?" Florence's head was spinning. Had Charles and Fiona been supporters of the regime that had done this to her, to her mother and father?

"Oh, no," Fiona said. "No, you must never think that. But there are many ... strands of opinion, shall we say? Not that MI5 see it that way. But that's why we put ourselves forward to be-- to look after you. We thought it should be people who shared your parents' ideals ..."

"But what's the point, if I'm not allowed to have any opinions of my own?"

"You're allowed to have opinions, of course you are," Charles said. "It's just about how you express them in public ..."

"All right," Florence said. "I won't wear the badge. Or go to any meetings."

"Meetings?" Fiona said, at the exact same moment as Charles said, "Definitely not."

"Stick to your chess," Charles added.

"No danger of changing the world there," Florence said.

Fiona squeezed her shoulders briefly. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way."


End file.
